Crystal
by Stephane Richer
Summary: They might be locked into the building but right now they're too locked into each other's gazes to let that be of any consequence. (Sequel to 'Idolize')


Crystal

Disclaimer: don't own

Notes: Day 7 of the 30 Day Cheesy Tropes Challenge by ghiraher on tumblr: stuck someplace together in winter. sequel to "Idolize" I suppose.

* * *

Kise lets out a puff of air; his breath crystallizes and he watches it dissipate into the frozen evening, burying his hands deeper in his pockets. The distance from his band's practice area in the cramped corner of an old sound stage to Aomine's dance studio is a few short blocks but on days like these it feels like going miles uphill—he wants so badly to just sink into Aomine's arms and catch a few moments with him and have those few moments turn into a few hours, but it's almost impossible. Since they've both been in Tokyo they've seen each other less often; here they don't have the benefit of planning things far in advance and clearing their schedules; here they have so much to fit in that the precious few moments together are all but forgotten. Texting and sending him selfies and exchanging phone calls out on the fire escape is fun and more than a little bit romantic but it's no substitute for the real thing. When he's cold at night he wants Aomine's warm arms around his body and when he's gulping down another takeout dinner he longs for the taste of Aomine's cooking and when he's walking alone he wishes he had Aomine there so they could hold hands and knock them against each other's thighs and something other than ambience could fill his ears.

He's busy running from flight school to band practice to work and Aomine's got rehearsals and photo shoots and recording and videos and the studio breathing down his neck and it's hard to catch time together when Aomine's not supposed to be dating anyone at all, let alone another man who's virtually unknown. It's something, though, being able to hang out at the studio while Aomine finishes practice or skips the ending altogether and they steal some time in the showers or a bathroom stall or even the hallway—no one's there at this hour of the night; it belongs to the record label and until closing time the entire studio is reserved for MIRACLES. Most of the others don't stay that late; sometimes Midorima's there but he's only spoken to Kise a few times and Kise's a bit thankful because it's weird meeting people like this, performing prodigies he's seen onstage and in magazines, hearing voices in person that have worn through the speakers on his radio (Aomine was and is the exception, of course).

He enters the studio and signs in with the guard; there's an hour until the studio closes and Aomine will go back to the company dorm and Kise will go home to the tiny apartment he shares with Nakamura, who's probably already asleep—he holds off the surge of loneliness as he unzips his jacket in the warmth of the building and walks up the stairs. Aomine will be waiting for him.

He opens the door and there he is, surrounded by three walls of mirrors, and hundreds of Aomines stare back at Kise through the reflections but alone in the center of the room is the real one, grinning.

"You're late today."

"Practice went a little over because we missed it last week."

Aomine walks over to greet him properly, presses a soft kiss to Kise's mouth. He tastes salty and his hands are sweaty from practice. Kise jerks away.

"You're all grimy."

"And you've managed to make it through the day totally clean?"

"Well, I took a shower after work, so I'm definitely cleaner than you are."

Aomine grabs his face. "And now you're dirty. Dirty, dirty, dirty."

His smirking mouth comes closer and closer and he kisses Kise again; this time Kise just gives in and kisses back. He sighs softly, pulling Aomine closer by the perspiration-soaked hem of his tank top. He's starting to sweat, too; the studio is like a fucking brick oven and the air is so still and humid and the proximity to the human space heater that is Aomine isn't helping. He steps back and throws off his jacket and rolls up his sweater sleeves.

"Oh?" says Aomine, raising an eyebrow.

Kise rolls his eyes. "Don't you have new routines to practice?"

"Nah," says Aomine. "We've got a few days before this new video and Murasakibara's having trouble with some things so the rest of us are just waiting for him before we can do anything else. They haven't really found anything better for us to do yet."

"So you're free?"

"Essentially," says Aomine.

He grabs Kise's hand and spins him around into his arms. "Dance with me?"

Kise grins, tucking his arm around Aomine's waist and locking their fingers tighter. Aomine takes the lead; his rhythm isn't perfectly steady but it's easy for Kise to follow. It's rather like an external representation of the rhythm of his breathing and the way he talks; it's the way all of his dances kind of go, free and almost random-seeming; he makes such close turns and they're insanely difficult to keep up with—Kise's got an excellent sense of rhythm and picks up on things quickly and he's been watching Aomine closely for years but he's no professional dancer and he's halfway caught up in Aomine himself, the feeling of the thin layer of air between their chests and the slickness of the sweat on their pressed-together hands and their almost synchronous breathing. It's not long before they're at the point where Kise just can't keep up and he pulls back, spinning out of Aomine's arms and wiping his face with his sleeve.

"Daiki-san really is amazing," he says through deep breaths.

Aomine grins and slings an arm around his waist. "You're pretty good for keeping up with me for this long."

It's still kind of frustrating that he can't keep up, that no matter how well the band is coming along—even if they have a manager and almost a whole album's worth of songs and they're in Tokyo, they're nowhere near where Aomine is, where MIRACLES are. True, they had a head start, but he wants to be able to sing like this, to move so tirelessly and perfectly after a long day. But this isn't the time for these thoughts; he pushes them away and rests his head on Aomine's shoulder. Aomine's hand is reaching under his sweater and his shirt beneath that, pinching at the skin on his hip, and Kise whines.

"Shower?"

"Mm."

* * *

They spend a long time together in the shower, getting dirtier before they get clean again—these shower stalls are pretty damn nice, too; they're roomy enough for both of them to fit comfortably in many positions and they're not grimy and suspicious-looking like the showers in Kise's high school locker room or the ones at the gym where he goes a few times a week to work out. It's a long time but it's the proper amount for him to relish every centimeter of Aomine's body and for Aomine to do the same to him, to kiss and touch each sensitive spot until it's nearly numb and until their voices mingle in a pure harmony.

Kise checks his phone when they get out, still wrapped in a towel, and squints at the time.

"Wasn't it supposed to close half an hour ago?"

"We were in there that long?" says Aomine.

He doesn't seem particularly concerned with the hour, instead flipping through text messages on his phone.

"Akashi arranged it with the management. Typical."

"What?"

"I used to stay at the studio all night sometimes when I was younger," Aomine says, scratching his ear. "Akashi would always work things out with the studio people and they'd leave the lights on and stuff and send someone to check in on me occasionally."

There's something he doesn't want to talk about here; Kise's not sure whether to push the issue or not. He's about to ask if they can leave anyway; if Aomine's been set free for the night they can go back to his apartment—but then he thinks the wiser of it. This seems like something that's somehow precious to Aomine, the studio at night, and he's offering to share it with Kise. (And even if it wasn't, it's Akashi-sanctioned which as far as Kise can tell is Akashi-ordered, and he's heard enough stories about Akashi torturing Haizaki to know that it's probably better to listen to him.)

He's wearing a spare set of Aomine's workout clothes; they're slightly too big for him everywhere and they smell like Aomine's expensive laundry detergent and they're so soft—Aomine's looking at him like he's shining and maybe he is with all these reflections of him in the harsh fluorescent light but they're shining together; their lips meet and Kise almost forgets how tired he is with how cool Aomine's skin is on his and how sweet his tongue is and the desperation of Aomine's hands threaded through his hair like he's afraid to let go. They might be locked into the building but right now they're too locked into each other's gazes to let that be of any consequence.


End file.
